Bad Moon Rising
by kinneysaurus
Summary: Five feet and seven inches of pure, pretentious confidence, equipped with a signature smirk and dressed to kill. "What's the matter? You don't recognize me?" We must live with the choices we make. HarryXOC.
1. In A Crappy Chinese Restaurant

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Marvel or The Amazing Spider-Man or Harry Osborn (unfortunately). **

* * *

"Leaving?_ W-what do you mean you're leaving?" Peter shouted, jumping from his spot on the swing set. Harry gave him an indifferent shrug. _

_"My father told me this morning. It didn't seem to be negotiable," he grumbled. Peter and I had never seen Harry look so defeated. The boy in front of us must have been from a parallel universe, surely the ever-so-confident and rebellious Harold Theopolis Osborn hadn't just given up like this._

_"But you must have told him you don't want to go.. Because you don't want to go... Right, Harry?" I asked slowly. Harry remained silent, staring at the ground near his feet._

_"Right?" I asked again when he didn't answer. Peter shot me an alarmed glance._

_"Maybe it won't be so bad. I can just forget this place," Harry finally said. _

_"Forget us, you mean?" I snapped back, even taking my self by surprise. _

_"Everything," he reaffirmed quietly._

_I could feel the tears, a mixture of anger and sadness, welling up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. If he wanted to forget us, then I certainly wouldn't be the one to stop him. I looked up at Peter and gave him a reassuring nod. _

_"Goodbye, Harold Osborn," I said, still trying to keep my cool as I turned and began walking away from the small swing set in the middle of the yard._

_"She only calls you Harold when she's angry, you know," I heard Peters voice pipe up. _

_"Yeah, Pete.. I know."_

* * *

I hadn't seen Harry since that night, with the exception of a few magazine articles and, of course, in The Bugle. He and Peter had stopped writing or calling long ago, and he had all but disappeared from the planet to me.

But here he was, his face plastered across every television station and newspaper in New York City. Billionaire playboy named the new CEO of Oscorp after his father's tragic and untimely death. The only words I'd been able to intelligently form after hearing the news had been a quick "Harry's back" over the phone.

"What do you mean? I thought he was in Europe or something?" Peter asked. I could hear sirens blaring in the background.

"Pete.. Where are you? It sounds crazy out there? Am I missing any good action from the _Amazing_ Spider-Man?" I teased. Peter's man crush on Spider-Man was by far my favorite button of his to push.

"Oh, it's just a movie. On the TV. Just a movie. No Spider-Man here," Peter quickly replied.

"Whatever you say, but you'd better get some good pictures. Aunt May could really use the help," I instructed.

"Back, uh, back to that Harry thing," Peter said.

"Turn that movie off and change it to one of the news channels. Norman Osborn is dead," I informed him, "And that means _Harold_ is back."

"Fun, fun," Peter mused, "You can't honestly still be angry with him."

"I always hold a grudge, Peter Parker," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Harry must be feeling awful right now. First his dad and now.. I mean, you know he doesn't want to run that company.." Peter began, "I'm just saying, maybe we should pay our old pal a visit." I couldn't help but turn up my nose to his suggestion.

"Nah, Pete. I'm over this pining over people that don't care to remember me thing. Let's go grab some Chinese tonight. Just you and me, like the good old days, okay?" I dismissed.

"He could probably use some friends right now.." Peter continued.

"And I'm sure he has plenty of those, but in case you don't remember, Pete, we're not longer on that list," I snapped. "So about dinner?"

"But Mel-" Peter protested.

"Awesome, see you at seven," I cut him off before he could decline.

I turned the television off, sickened by hearing the name of my former best friend echoing throughout the city.

* * *

Just as I had planned, I was waiting outside our favorite Chinese food place promptly at seven, but, as usual, Peter was late. When 7:30 rolled around, I decided to go inside and order.

The small television set sitting on the counter beside the cash register was showing the all too familiar story about New York's masked vigilante. From what I could gather, spider boy had fought off some electric blue freak in the middle of Times Square. Before I could become too involved in the story, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

In front of me stood what could only be described as the most unwelcome presence I could possibly imagine. Five feet and seven inches of pure, pretentious confidence, equipped with a signature smirk and dressed to kill. I could have sworn I was about to choke on my chow mein right then and there.

"Long time no see, Melinda Stoker," the stranger grinned. He raised an eyebrow at me expectantly, a glimmer of joy in his bright blue eyes. I suddenly felt vastly insignificant, standing next to his Armani suit in my wrinkled t-shirt and ratty sneakers.

"What's the matter? You don't recognize me?" He chuckled. It was like seeing a ghost. _The heir of Oscorp was __**here**__ of all places? In a crappy Chinese restaurant in Brooklyn? Could it really be-_

"Harry, you made it!" Peter said excitedly as he walked through the door with a smile. _Damn it. _


	2. The Friendship Train

**DISCLAIMER: I _still _don't own Marvel or The Amazing Spider-Man**

* * *

"Mel.. I hope you don't mind, I invited Harry to join us. Thought he could use the company. Maybe it'll give us some time to catch up," Peter said nervously. I glared up at him. The woman behind the counter handed me my food and turned to take their orders, giving me a moment to calm myself.

"You're late," I grumbled when they had finished, moving towards the booth in the corner of the restaurant, shoving another bite of chow mein into my mouth. _Assholes._

"Don't seem so happy to see me, Stoker," Harry smirked.

"Trust me, _Harold_, I'm not."

"Come on guys. It's just like old times. Can't we just.. Try?" Peter pleaded. His stupid puppy dog eyes were getting the best of me. He always had been the peace-keeping middle child of the trio.

"I'm really sorry about your father, Harry," I finally said.

"I'm fine. We weren't close," he shrugged. "Congrats on NYU. Pete told me," he added.

"Awe look at you two. I can practically see the friendship train leaving the station," Peter laughed. "So tell us, what's it like to be the new CEO of Oscorp?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Complicated. Not my style," he replied.

"What is your style, Har? Yacht parties and French models? You know what else probably isn't your style? Pete and I. Why are you here?" I snapped. Peter grimanced and sighed.

"Because Pete asked me to come. I had no clue New York would have such a fantastic welcoming committee. Really, Melinda, you've outdone yourself," Harry growled. I could see Peter beginning to bury his face into the sleeves of his hoodie, his face resting against the cold table.

"You're the one who left, Harold, you shouldn't expect us to just welcome you back with open arms," I replied.

"I didn't get an option!"

"You didn't even write! Hell, my mom still sends you _Christmas cards_ and you can't even be bothered to write? Did you even know that Uncle Ben _died_? Do you even care? Or that my mom has _Alzheimer's_? She can't remember my name, but goddammit, Harry Osborn **_will_** get a Christmas card, won't he? And your dad? When was the last time you saw him? When he has handing you his billion dollar company? Things didn't stop happening here just because you _chose_ to ignore us!" I yelled.

The majority of the restaurant was staring at us, and I could feel my cheeks begin to flush.

"Like I said, Pete, I don't do complicated. I'm out of here," Harry said, throwing a fifty dollar bill down on the table. "Enjoy dinner," he snapped before storming out of the restaurant.

"Come on, Mel. Don't be so hard on him. He just lost his dad. He needs us," Peter chided. And deep down, I knew he was right. We were all decorated members of the Dead Parents Club. We had to stick together. I sighed, giving myself a moment to calm my nerves.

"I should probably go after him now, shouldn't I?" I asked, already knowing Peter's answer. He raised an eyebrow.

"You really need me to answer that, Mel?" he chuckled.

I stood from my seat once more, ignoring the looks I was receiving from my fellow diners, who obviously expected me to cause a scene once more, and was jogging down the street within seconds. Just down the block was the familiar blonde, Armani suit wearing figure.

"Har! Wait up!" I called. He paused, his arms crossed against his chest. His foot tapped impatiently. Even after all these years, Harry knew it was a rare occurrence for me to swallow my pride and apologize to someone, _especially_ when that someone was Harry Osborn.

"Thought of some other insults to hurl at me, Stoker?" He scoffed.

"'Course I did. I had to jog all the way down here to tell you that you dress like a pretentious hipster douche-bag and that your haircut makes you look like a young scene boy, and also that I'm really sorry for being such an insensitive asshole to you today. It's the abandonment issues. Oh, and that I really suck at apologizing. Can't forget that one," I said, my words coming out as a jumbled flood of emotion.

"You really are quite bad at that," he nodded slowly, "but apology accepted, I suppose."

"So, uh, how have you been.. For the last.. Ten years?" I asked awkwardly as we walked back to the small corner restaurant.

"Why don't we skip that part," he chuckled, "You clearly aren't a fan of my yacht party adventures."

"Oh, no, do tell. I've always wanted to know how the other half lives," I teased. "Was it, like, _totally_ awesome, bro?"

"_Totally,_" he grinned.


	3. Hangover Duty

**Disclaimer: I don't ****own Marvel of Spider-Man, blah blah blah**

* * *

I awoke to a phone call from an unknown number in the early hours of the morning.

"Hello?" I grumbled tiredly. The light flooding in from my dirty windows was making the early hour rather unpleasant.

"Mel, it's Harry. I need your help," an equally groggy voice responded. His words were slurred and it was clear that he'd had a few drinks the night before. I figured that he expected me to be on hangover duty, in light of our newly rekindled friendship.

"Can't it wait a few hours?" I yawned.

"I.. No, I don't think so. I need you," he said worriedly. His words immediately spiked my curiosity. _The great and powerful Harold T. Osborn, billionaire and CEO of Oscorp, needed a commoner's assistance. How ironic. _

Knowing it must have been fairly important for him to set his pride to the side long enough to bother asking me for my help, and the desperation in his voice finally registering in my clouded morning mind, I immediately threw the blankets off and pulled on a pair of jeans, nearly tripping as I reached for my shoes.

"I'll, um, I'll be there as soon as I can, Har. Whatever it is, I'm sure.. I'm sure it'll be okay. I'll see you soon," I said, hanging up the phone and rushing out the door of my tiny apartment.

* * *

"Are you fucking insane?" I screeched. Harry looked at me pointedly. He looked like a drugged up little elf, in the most dangerous and intimidating way possible.

"No, I most certainly am not," he said, pointing to a gnarly looking rash on his neck._ It looks just like_.. He took another drink of the murky gold liquid in the glass in front of him.

"It's genetic," I breathed, awestruck by the revelation. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Took you long enough. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Mel. I'm _dying_," he said, confirming my conclusion.

"And you think some of spider boy's blood is going to cure it?" I asked cautiously. It was acutely obvious that Harry wasn't in the right state of mind. _Even if he is right, how does he plan to find him?_

"Spiders can heal themselves, and so can he. If I have to turn into some genetically modified freak that fights crime in spandex, that's what I'm going to do. Now are you going to help me or not?" he snapped.

"Of course- I mean, I'll do what I can, but.. No one knows who he is, Har," I promised weakly.

"Peter. Peter knows," Harry said, a wild look in his eyes.

"No, Pete wishes he knew," I countered.

"He takes his pictures. He knows where to find him," Harry said confidently, "All we have to do it ask Peter."

"So why did you call me, then? At least Peter could have been of some use.." I mumbled.

"Because.. because I trust you, Mel," he admitted with a shrug. I felt the familiar tingle of butterflies in my stomach._ Just like the good old days..._

"Har, there has to be something else. You can't just expect Spider-Man to drop everything and let you jab a needle into his arm," I said, growing frustrated with my mix of emotions.

"Do I look like someone who has a lot of options?" he asked desperately. I took a moment to consider the alcohol on his breath and the dark rings that hung just below his bloodshot eyes. Truthfully, he looked exactly like a man on the brink of his own demise.

"No, not particularly," I answered.

"So are you're in?" he asked. _I can't just let him die like this... _

"I'm in."

* * *

I returned home from my classes that day to find Peter sitting on my doorstep. His eyes were red and puffy, filled with a desperation I hadn't seen since he and Gwen had called it quits.

"Hey, Pete, do you want to come inside?" I asked as I stepped around him to unlock the front door.

"Nah, Mel, I'm good. i just didn't want Aunt May to see me like this.. Can I ask you a hypothetical question?" he choked out.

"Yeah, of course, Pete," I nodded.

"If you, uh, if your friend needed something, something that could potentially save their life, but it could also, uh, it could also kill them.. Would you do it? Knowing that if they die, it's your fault?" he rambled.

"If I was their only chance, I would think it was worth a shot.. But Pete, it isn't up to you. All you have to do is ask. Spider-Man determines the rest. You can't put all of this upon yourself," I replied, patting him on the back awkwardly. I had never been any good at consolation either.

"Wait.. How did you..?" He trailed off.

"Harry told me he needed some help from your buddy, Spider-Man," I replied, "He's convinced you two are BFFs."

"That's the thing, Mel. I _am_ Spider-Man."


	4. In Which Melinda Takes a Leap of Faith

**Disclaimer: Don't own Marvel, don't own The Amazing Spider-Man, and I obviously still don't own Harry Osborn. I'm just a kid with a laptop and a lot of feelings. Enjoy the fluff.**

* * *

"Bullshit, Parker. I took PE with you in the 11th grade. Your cardio is like.. _Bad_," I said, fumbling for words. I'd seen the kid fall down a rope so many times, I could have written a book over the minuscule details of his descents

Peter raised his hand and web shot out like a rocket from his arm. _Oh shit._

"Okay, so maybe you _are_ Spider-Man," I nodded shakily.

"You think?" He snapped.

"Excuse me, I've been your best friend since we were five and I'm just find thing out _now_?" I replied.

"It's complicated!" He defended.

"Why now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I need your help. Put aside whatever feelings you have for Harry," my cheeks began to feel warm, "and tell me the truth. What do I do?"

"First of all, I do _not_ have feelings for Harry Osborn, and second, he's your friend. He needs you," I said, "You're his only hope, Obi Wan," I teased. He nodded.

"Yeah I just.. I don't want his blood on my hands, you know," he sighed.

"It won't be on your hands. It'll be on Spider-Man's. No one has to know, pinky promise," I said, hooking my pinky with his.

"And bullshit, Melinda Stoker. You've had the hots for Harry Osborn, and we've all known to since we were eleven," Peter joked.

"Do not," I grumbled, "Let's get back to the point. You're _Spider-Man._ It's your job to help people."

"He could die," Peter argued.

"He's dying anyway," I pointed out. Peter glared at me.

"I hate it when you're right," he admitted.

"That's my job," I smirked.

* * *

I adjusted my skirt one more time, staring intently at the mirror. At first it had seemed like a good idea, taking Harry out to lunch, but now my nerves were taking over. _He needs to get out._ The last time I'd seen him had been in his office the week earlier, when he'd informed me of his impending death sentence.

Peter had been teasing me all day, but ultimately I had decided to text Harry and inform him that I would be arriving at his office for a visit in an hour.

And this is what led me to stand in front of Oscorp in a pair of vastly uncomfortable heels and my favorite black skirt, praying that the blazer I had decided to wear didn't make me look like a yuppie. Actually, praying that I wasn't about to ruin my friendship with Harold Osborn.

* * *

"Mr. Osborn is.. indisposed at the moment," Harry's assistant, Felicia said in an almost robotic tone of voice. The way she was looking at me was making me quite uncomfortable.

It wasn't the looks I was used to getting from the people at Oscorp, the ones that made it clear that poor people were unwelcome here. It wasn't the one that I got when my muddy sneakers slapped against the shiny marble flooring of their pristine offices. This was a look of pure contempt, one that I hadn't been on the receiving end of since high school.

"He just texted me and told me to ignore you," I smirked, showing her the message I had just received. She sent me a false smile.

"Very well, then," she grumbled, opening the door to his office. "Mr. Osborn, you're.. friend is here to see you." She strutted out of the office, sending me a brief glare.

"You, um, you okay, Har?" I asked, taking in his tired form sprawled lazily about his desk. He let out a quiet chuckle.

"Oh, I'm _grand._ I'm so far in the grave, _Melinda Stoker,_ of all people, is standing in my office in funeral clothes," he said bitterly. _Funeral clothes?_

"They aren't funeral clothes, Har. A girl can wear a skirt every now and then," I shrugged. He shook his head slightly. "Besides, I thought maybe you could stand to get out of here for a while," I suggested.

"And where did you plan on going looking so dressed up?" He chuckled.

"That's a surprise," I replied, smiling at him.

"Melinda Stoker, I do believe you're attempting to take me out on a date," He said with an annoying smirk.

The butterflies were back.

"Don't flatter yourself, Harold Osborn. It's brunch, not a weekend in Maui," I snapped.

"There she is," He grinned. "You can put her in a skirt but you can't take away the sass."

* * *

"How did you find this place?" Harry chuckled, the corners of his heavily bruised eyes crinkling as he smiled. He stared around at the tacky, overly decorated scenery.

"I _live_ food cheap Thai food, Harold Osborn. You do not understand the woes of an impoverished college student," I replied. He shot me the same sideways glace he always had whenever I brought up money, of my lack thereof.

"And you made me wear a suit to this place?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course. Gotta keep it classy, Osborn," I said with a grin.

"You know, most people, when they find that their friend is dying, take them to expensive restaurants. But not you. I like that, you not treating me like I'm dying," he said approvingly.

"I like to pretend you aren't," I admitted.

"So your mom.. how is she?" he asked cautiously.

"She has her good days and bad days, I hear. I don't visit her much anymore. She rarely remembers who I am anymore," I shrugged. "She still talks about you, though. All the time, actually. Always telling me about her daughter and her friends, Peter and Harry, and all the things we used to do as kids."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mel. Your mom was always the best," he mumbled.

"You should come visit her with me sometime. Pete could come too. I think she might like that," I said quietly. "Timing kind of sucks, huh?" I mused.

"What do you mean?" he asked, a look of confusion gracing his face.

"I spent all this time hating you for leaving and now you're back and we're friends again and you're just going to die on me. Just like that," I rambled. He drew in a slow breath.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," he replied, shaking his head. _False comfort is better than nothing. _"At least not until I get a second date, Melinda Stoker." _Oh._

* * *

**Literally nothing happened in this chapter and I am sorry. I felt it needed some fluff, buuuut there's finally some HarryXMelinda action beginning, so I'm not _that_ sorry. There will be some action to soon to come, I promise.**


	5. The Animal Comes Alive

**DISCLAIMER: Not. Mine. Just Melinda. Nothing else. **

* * *

"So things with Harry went..?" Peter questioned as we strolled through the park. The sun was bright and the trees were green, as it so rarely was in New York.

"Um.. sort of spectacular?" I blushed. Peter smiled.

"Way to go, Stoker," he said approvingly. "Always knew you'd marry rich," he teased.

"I mean, it's not like an actual _thing, _but.." I sighed.

"The death thing?" Pete suggested. I glared at him. He could be so insensitive sometimes.

"The death thing," I reluctantly agreed. "But you're going to take care of that.. right?"

"About that, Mel..," Peter sighed. I felt my stomach drop. _No! He could not be does this to me! Could he?_

"You're not going to..?" I trailed off, hoping my assumption was wrong.

"It's too dangerous right now. I'm not saying never but-" he began fumbling for his words.

"Pete! He's going to _die_. You're the only one who can do a damn thing about it. You're choosing _wrong!_"

I felt the warm tears streaming down my face as I watched Peter's expression contouring with his guilt.

"Do whatever you want, Peter, but when he dies, it's on your hands," I choked out, leaving him standing alone in the park to deal with whatever consequences his decision would bring forth.

* * *

After my less than stellar afternoon with Peter, I decided to go visit my mother at her nursing home on the other side of the city. I could feel the guilt and dread eating away inside of me, and I couldn't help but remember the moments as a child when I would go to my mother after a fight with Peter or Harry. She would always know what to say.

Mom? Hey, mom, I just wanted to come by to-" I began, taking a seat on one of the plastic covered sofas in the visiting area.

"Why do you keep bothering me?" the frail woman in front of me snapped. I felt my cheeks flush as the nurses began to exchange worried glances. This wasn't the first time this had happened.

"It's.. it's me. Melinda. Your daughter.." I mumbled.

"My daughter? I don't have a daughter your age," she dismissed. "Amanda!could you come here please?" she called to one of the nurses, waving her in our direction. A tired looking middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair made her way across the linoleum tiles.

"Yes, Mrs. Stoker?" she answered.

"This young woman thinks she's my little Mel. She's trying to lie to me! To confuse me!" She shrieked indignantly.

"Your visit seems to be causing Mrs. Stoker a fair amount of distress, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she shrugged. I could feel a lump begin forming in my throat.

"Right…," I nodded slowly, "Bye, Mom," I mumbled, turning towards the door. I hastened my steps, wanting as far away from the humiliation the room held as possible.

"I'm not-"

The door closed behind me before she could finish.

* * *

I wandered through the streets of New York for god knows how long. I'd always preferred riding around on the subway to help me think, but I'd barely been able to scrape up enough money for groceries this month, so I knew I was in no position to be wasting it away. The street lamps offered meager lighting, and, in typical New York fashion, murky puddles lined my pathway. As disgusting as the place was, it was the most wonderful place in the world to me.

My head was crowded with warring thought. At the forefront was my mother, of course, which was closely followed by Harry and the implications of beginning a relationship with someone who was essentially on death row, and then there was Peter. My best friend-my _former_ best friend- was _Spider-Man. Holy hell._ And he'd been keeping this a secret from me for how long? I didn't care to know. I didn't care to know much of anything anymore.

Like speaking of the devil, a swanky black BMW driving far past the legal speed limit appeared at the street corner. No one with that kind of money was stupid enough to hang out in a neighborhood like this, no one except-

Surely enough, as the car came to an abrupt, break squealing stop, the door was immediately thrown open by none other than Harry Osborn, who slammed the door shut and, like lightning, was by my side.

"Har, what's going on?" I asked cautiously, taking in his unusually disheveled appearance. The circles below his eyes had grown even darker than before, his eyes an almost inhuman tinge of red. I tried to ignore the large cut on the corner of his face, figuring it was better to as few questions as possible when he was in this monstrous state.

"He's a _fraud," _Harry yelled. A fist went flying through the air, impacting hard with the brick building behind us. He let out a cry of pain and slumped against the offending brick.

"Harry! Stop it!" I said, my heart pounding in fear due to his sudden rage.

"_Spider-Man_ said no," he growled. The smell of alcohol on his breath was potent, surrounding him in a haze of rage and booze.

"It's going to be okay, Har," I said timidly, "We can figured something else out." He smirked at me. His eyes looked much more like an animal's than a human's. An animal staring at his prey.

"You really think that _you_ can help me?" he snapped. He raised an eyebrow at me expectantly.

"Do you?" He spat.

"What's wrong with you?" I mumbled, hating the way he was looking at me, like I was more insignificant than the dirt below his feet. I knew there was no way I would be able to escape him, even in his alcohol impaired state, so I decided it would be best to try to talk him down.

"Did you miss the memo?" he chuckled bitterly, "I'm a dead man."

"Harry, don't talk like that-" I said. I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he caught my arm before I could make contact.

"Get in the car," he ordered coldly. He roughly held my arm and began pulling me towards the idling car, stumbling as he went, his bony fingers digging brutally into my flesh.

"You know, Mel, I really _am_ sorry about this. I was so looking forward to that date," he mused.

"You're _kidnapping_ me?" I shrieked, pulling against his force. It was pointless. he was too drunk and I was too weak to protest any longer.

"Upon further consideration, you might just help save my life after all," he smirked.


	6. Harry Flies Over the Cuckoo's Nest

**DISCLAIMER: Still do not own Marvel.**

* * *

"Harry, you don't have to do this," I reasoned as he sped down the street at an alarming rate. We were flying through the streets, and at this late hour there was no one there to stop us from making our reckless journey through New York.

"Shut up," he growled. The NYPD were too familiar with the car to bother stopping us, I guessed. The name Osborn was like a get out of jail free card, and the cops knew all to well that there was no point in taking him in. _Maybe he's bribing them... Damn sellouts. _

"Hey, Har? Any chance you've written a check to the NYPD lately, have you?" I questioned, my eyes narrowing as I scrutinized his face. He'd never been the best of lairs.

"No," he scoffed, his eyes never leaving the road. The dimple in he cheek wasn't showing, as it usually did when he fibbed, or always had when we were younger._ So this is the criminal justice system I pay taxes for. How fantastic. _

"Would you just slow down?" I finally snapped. "You're going to kill us both." He rolled his eyes at me.

"I'm Harry Osborn," he said his name bitterly, "I can do whatever the fuck I want." _Trust me, I've noticed_.

"So you just randomly take hostages now," I chuckled._ Oh how the mighty have fallen._

"What's so funny about this?" He snapped once more. Another round of giggles escaped from my mouth.

"I'm dating a psychopath. I'm _dating_ a psychopath. I am dating a _psychopath_," I snorted.

"I'm not. I'm not a psychopath. I'm not crazy," he reassured himself.

"Harry, you just _kidnapped_ me. You sure as hell are," I began, "And I am obviously in shock," I reasoned.

"Would you just shut up already so I can think?" He growled, pounding his hands against the steering wheel.

"Of course,_ Mr. Osborn_."

He glared over at me. I could only smirk in return.

"You know, Harry, if you wanted us to go back to your place, all you had to do was ask," I teased, my own maniacal laughter following the comment. _I crack myself up._

"**_Shut up_**!" Harry said, slamming on the brakes, throwing us both forward. My body collided hard with the seatbelt and a string of curses flew from my mouth.

"God fucking damn it, Harry!" I snapped. A low chuckle came from beside me.

"Oh, but _this_ is funny?" I complained. He shrugged his shoulders.

"A little," he admitted. He laughter erupting from behind his lips grew more and more deranged.

"Okay, Harry..," I sighed, closing my eyes and relaxing into the overly priced leather seat. "What are you doing, Harry? Honestly?"

"Want to hear a fun fact? Hmm? Oscorp has Peter Parker under surveillance. So you know what that means, don't you? That little pow-wow outside of your house?" I turned away from him, my breath catching in my throat.

"Oh, c'mon, Mel, you don't remember? When Peter told you he was Spider-Man? That's right, I saw that," he said menacingly.

"Harry, you don't know what you're talking about," I defended. _Liar lair, pants on fire._

"Don't I? So here's what's going to happen, _babe_. You're going to call Peter and you're going to tell him that Spider-Man needs to give you his blood, and just so you know, I want it by tomorrow night, otherwise someone in this car _just might_ be doing a disappearing act," he said reaching into the glove compartment.

"And heads up, Mel, it's not going to be me."

I watched as he drew what looked to be a fully loaded pistol from the compartment.

"O-okay," I agreed, my hands beginning to tremble.

"Oh, and one more thing. You're not going to tell him you're with me.. **_Yet_**," he smirked._ Crazy motherfucker_.

* * *

**This one's a shortie, sorry**


	7. Under Those Fluorescent Lights

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man.**

* * *

"Peter? Um, hey Pete, I know we aren't exactly...," I paused, not quite knowing how to describe my relationship with Peter that had so inconveniently entered a turbulence just before my moments of distress.

"Mel, you okay?" His confused, sleepy voice asked.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that a very real gun was being brandished only mere inches from me by my borderline-psychotic drunkard of an almost-boyfriend.

"Peter, I need your blood," I said, my voice growing colder. "I need it **_now_**," I continued. It occurred to me that this may have been the last time I would hear my best friend's voice.

"Mel, I'm not giving you my blood. I'm not giving it to _anyone_," he said firmly. I could feel the gun pressing into my temple, a constant reminder to keep the knowledge of Harry's presence to myself. I tried to swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat and pushed myself to continue.

"Peter, you don't understand..," I began. "Just do it, okay? Meet me at the park tomorrow and-"

"No means no, Melinda. I'm not going to give you my blood just because you found yourself a boyfriend," he growled. A frustrated Harry drew the gun away from me, replacing it with his lips on my ear.

"You're useless," he uttered the words, making my skin crawl.

"Listen up, Pete-y Pie, you're going to give me the blood or I'm going to give you hers," Harry announced, dropping the charade. The previous plan of action had been thrown to the wind. _Harry has always been more of a 'give it to me now' kind of guy anyway._

"Go to hell, man," Peter dismissed.

"On my way and dragging you there with me, Spider-Man," Harry quipped, a satisfied grin resting upon his lips. Happy with his closing threat, Harry hung up the phone, tossing it over his shoulder onto the street, the speed of the car destroying the device on impact.

"I don't think my phone insurance covers deranged boy damage, Har," I sighed as we inevitably arrived at Oscorp. Harry seemed to take great pleasure in acting as if he hadn't just committed a felony, casually throwing his arm around my waist and swaggering through the lobby.

Despite the many floors of Oscorp being flooded with incompetent security guards and a few decently trained body guards for the sake of the heir, the kidnapping victim seemed to go unnoticed, with the exception of a few creepy old men glancing up at me as we walked past._ Well if this isn't par for the course_. It wasn't hard to tell that it wasn't unusual for Harry to be bringing girls home with him in the middle of the night. _Probably blondes_. I couldn't help but let an eye roll slip as we stepped onto the Elevator and Harry ordered it to take us up to the penthouse.

"You know, this place could do with a little more security detail," I sighed. "Particularly when it comes to you. How'd you manage to bust out of this place without at least two of these guys following you, anyway?" I asked. Harry looked as of he had sobered up a bit under the unflattering fluorescent lights of the elevator.

"I'm not exactly their top priority at the moment," he smirked.

"Well then what is, if not protecting the crowned prince of Norman Osborn's precious empire?" I questioned, a mock sincerity in my voice. He glared down at me, his arms folding across his chest.

"You'll find out soon enough," he confirmed as the elevator dinged to a stop, opening up to his, as I have previously stated, vastly overpriced apartment. It was sparcely decorseted on a minimalistoc fashion that I had alway found left things feeling more like an art gallery or a museum and less like a home. It was hard to imagine a young Harry running around this place, playing and making messes as only an eight year old can.

"How did you grow up in a place like this," I sighed, shaking my head and collapsing onto the stiff leather sofa in the middle of the barren room. He eyed me suspiciously, wondering if he was still obligated to yell at his new hostage.

"By spending as little time in it as possible," he responded, pouring himself another drink from the cabinet in the corner. "You and Peter helped."

"For what it's worth, Harry, I am sorry this is happening to you. We both are," I sighed, mustering up a half smile to send his way.

"Dont," he began, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, "get me started on Peter right now." He downed the drink in record time.

"Does it hurt?" I asked. "The dying thing, I mean."

He chuckled. "Did you really think it wouldn't?"

"I guess I hadn't really.. You know, thought about that part."

He shrugged, his tired blue eyes falling upon me, obstructed slightly by his untidy blonde hair.

"Disease really knows how to fuck things up, doesn't it?"

I nodded, unnerved by how casually he spoke.

"I mean, you and me, we were finally going somewhere. I had it all, real lives of the rich and famous, young, hot, and successful...," he trailed off, his words coming out in a slur that seemed to be due more to exhaustion than the liquor.

"Har, it's going to be okay," I mumbled. His eyes drifted to a close and he fell into a much needed sleep. I stared at his sleeping figure for a moment, taking in a Harry without all the extra sides of evil and psychosis. Sighing, I grabed a blanket off of the back of one of the uncomfortable and comicayed looking chaira scattered about the room and draped it over his sleeping figure.

"Goodnight, Har."


End file.
